Well there's fire and ice but what happened to rocks, and the dirt and the mud and the stains on my jeans, what happened to yellow, and what happened to fun, who stole my umbrella who left me to run.
There's fancy words for fancy pain, I wish I had a letter for every single dime, I'd stamp on all the pages and I'd swallow all the wine, I wish there was a wish for wishing away the wishes that left me stranded, I think maybe somethings broken, but I've got both feet. My fingers are all counting, my eyelids aren't sewn shut.
Someone stole the pieces, the pieces of my brain, they sold them to a sailor and begged him to make rain, he made it pour for days and nights, and betty said goobye, sometimes when I'm speaking I forget which truths I told, so I make a lie to cover and the others all grow old.
So tell me a story, where a girl meets a boy, tell me bout their picnics and tell me bout his wife, show me their shredded clothes and point me to the bear, what a tragic end, what a tragic despair.
And it's cold and it's warm and life is dripping into sand, and the sun, she is black but the world is colour blind, and the day, she is night, and the night she is history and dancing never meant much more then stomp and clap, stomp and clap.